And another one
by Melitot Proud Eye
Summary: "There are boundaries that not even gods should cross, that even Thor's love cannot overcome." How many chances until farewell? [Thunderfrost] [future fic]
1. I

**Notes** : first published on EFP in 2012. I was so sure I had posted it here, too! Can't believe I hadn't.  
 **Tags** : Slash, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Pseudo-Incest, Warning: Loki, Loki Feels, Thor Feels, Abandonment, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Needs a Hug, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost, Future Fic, Longing, Flash Fic, Translation. Thor Has Become a Saint  
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 **And another one**

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I

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Their enmity is a dangerous, barren midwinter's joust, because from blood and broken promises nothing but ice can be born. Loki finds it appropriate – no, essential: nothing is more addictive than seeing hope become disappointment on Thor's face, then having it return with vim.

"Will you give me another chance?" he taunts, "o wise son of Odin?"

"Another, as many as necessary" Thor answers, wiping a bloodied mouth. "Brother."

And five years later: "Another. You'll have shed your own skin before you've gotten rid of me."

And ten years afterwards, with a smile that is a grimace: "An entire existence you lived lamenting neglect, and now you want me to forsake you?"

And fifty, with open arms: "Another one, yes. I'll stop only only when _you_ will–»

"–but that doesn't mean I won't punish you" he adds, when they're losing track.

"Oh" Loki says, delighted. "A variation? An incentive to redeem myself? How generous you are, Thor. No, don't make that face: you're free to try, or rather... you have my encouragement."

Thor's attention is unwavering and intense, defiant of wars, truces, births, deaths – a sun which illuminates the dark depths of the soul, even the most monstrous. Sometimes, Loki wonders if the need to deceive and flee is an animal heritage of his blood, a rousing invitation to the hunt. It's possible. Probable.

What he know is that he'll never be able to do without it.

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And so they go on, tirelessly, while decades run toward centuries and beyond, as comforting as the Uroboros eating its own tail. Loki flees, Thor gives chase. Every time they meet blood burns and is shed.

"How many more chances will you give me?" Loki asks, ignoring the vague queasiness due to their imminent separation. "Aren't you tired?"

(Thor will never tire.)

"Another" Thor says, feverish eyes on him.

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But time is merciless even with gods and one day, distant the fall from the Bifrost, forgotten by history his intemperancies on Midgard, Loki realizes that he's worn himself out. In flesh, in spirit. For the first time in his life, he can't imagine anything more pleasant than finding a place in which to put down roots; and that place can only be where is–

(Even the Golden Realm has changed. He might be accepted.)

But he can't go back like this. Loki Silvertongue must save face.

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It's when Thor looks at him from the opposite side of the battle – the last, then Loki will surrender – that he senses something strange. Before the dust has settled, his not-brother presses his lips together and turns his back on him. Loki understands what was the fever that had lighted Thor's eyes, that day.

'Another' he'd said. _The last_ , he'd thought.

None, in the end. And, whipped by the plain's wind, Loki feels himself go adrift. _No_ , he wants to cry. _Not now. Why now?_ He wants to run, throw himself at Thor's feet like the dog he is. _No, no, this isn't how it was supposed to be, this isn't what I wanted! Thor–_

Don't leave me don'tleaveme _don'tleaveme_

But it's too late. It's been too late for a long time.

There are boundaries that not even gods should cross, that even Thor's love cannot overcome. In the end Loki, bastard son of a monster, has found them. And he's got only himself to blame.

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 _Don't forget me_.

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	2. II

**Note** : because I couldn't bear an unhappy ending.

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II

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They take him by ambush. It matters not. He could have thwarted them but chose not to.

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They're Asgardian knights, accompanied by a young mage from Alfhèim – a man as pallid as a lichen, rigged out in red leaves and silver. They found their quarry thanks to his talents: he's good, Loki thinks. In battle he could be a difficult opponent.

Having considered this, he wonders why they're so polite; they don't need to be. As the torpor of long inactivity leaves him he begins to look around, ignoring their attempts at conversation. Maybe letting himself be caught wasn't a good idea. Maybe he should–

A familiar jerk. Behind him opens a spatial breach which sucks them all in and, at the other end, a golden sun shines.

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They waste no time: he's barely had time to recognize the hills that he has already left the Bifrost, has crossed the city walls, entered the citadel and is being led through corridors and discreet passages. A missed spectacular entrance. Colours run in every direction, maybe it's an enchantment. He hasn't seen so many in... years? Centuries? They disorient and enrage him, but it's a distant, irresolute kind of rage.

Norns, to have come to this.

 _Pathetic. But you might still end with a bang instead of a whimper, if you wanted._

While he searches in his dusty repertoire of ploys, the last escorting knight steers him through a threshold and, by taking hold of his shoulder, has him sit on an elm, high-backed chair. Loki snarls.

But the man has disappeared.

Quick. The quality of the training must have improved... or maybe not, since they've left him unattended. He looks around. He hesitates, recognizing the place. These are his brother's old chambers, refurbished into office of state – formal, golden, blinding; if they remodeled hoping to shock the poor petitioners, they have succeeded. Then he hears the sound of breathing, a throat clearing discreetly. He's not alone. He swallows and turns.

He lifts his eyes.

Thor is facing the eastern windows, hands held behind his back. He's turned away – always, now – but studies him from the corner of an eye.

In this light he resembles Odin, by the Nine, and it's all Loki's fault.

His throat closes. His body becomes a knot of hunger and misery. Neither will be relieved, he knows, and hopes for nothing; he notices them only because of an old, pathetic desire rekindled by these halls. Loki can only wonder about the reason for which the new Allfather had him collected from the hole where he existed. Maybe some _seiðr_ -related problem; maybe a danger in which jaws to throw the last of the ancient sorcerers, as the men of a bygone Midgard threw water on fires. Surely he's not here to be forgiven.

Then Thor breaks the silence and Yggdrasil overturns on its axis.

"I forgive you" he says.

Loki's head snaps up. Thor's face is drawn, but under the sovereign's gloss holds up the man he's always known. (Loved. _Loved_.)

"I forgive you, but for the love of everything that is sacred, enough. Enough. I can't live like this anymore."

Blood leaves Loki, and it's as much wonder as fear. From the ashes of their bond a last chance arises. But he has squandered so many, why this time should go differently?

He withdraws. Thor comes closer.

"Did you hear me, Loki? Is the person you were before our separation still inside you? Tell me you found him again." He leans toward him, and from the cape of the king arises the truthful prince. "Tell me he never died. That you'll be my ally again, my advisor, my–and that you will abandon, no, that you _have_ abandoned the road of resentment. Say that you will come to me with honesty if not with love." His intensity hasn't dwindled; it keeps on burning, like a bonfire's flame in the night.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I'm a sentimental fool? Maybe I am. I don't care. I don't care about what relatives, politicians and gossipers will say. Frankly, they may go fuck themselves: I'm old enough to discern between lost battles and battles which I cannot afford to lose."

It's impossible. But his not-brother knows not how to lie with an open-face. Thor grabs him, lifts him bodily as if they'd gone back to being boys, and from Loki's mouth some kind of laugh comes forth.

"You're not old" he says, of all the things he should be telling him.

It's the right one, though. Thor smiles.

"I _forgive_ you" he murmurs, letting their foreheads touch. "I was weak. I gave up. Now I intend to make amends: I will never forsake you again, Loki."

It's a a conditional pledge – he knows that Loki has changed, he's had proof of it in centuries of quiet and silence. He's much more than an adventurer, now; and it's all right. Loki wants him to be so. (It will keep him safe.)

He searches in his eyes, anchored to reality by the warmth of Thor's hand. He cracks a smile.

"But you won't forget."

"Would you want me to?"

"No. It will protect you" Loki whispers. "It will protect us."

The memory of the pain they caused each other will be the shield that will prevent them from making new mistakes, and admonition that no one is perfect, when they won't be able to avoid them. Loki lets himself be pulled forward and Thor embraces him with caution, heritage of uncertain centuries, until his hold is reciprocated. Almost smothered against his shoulder, Loki feels at home.

At last.

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end


End file.
